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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179788">three time a piano wasn't used to play</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana'>Laeana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Charles as Giorgio Armani's ambassador, Concerts, Domestic Disputes, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Piano, Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Serenade, Team Bonding, Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:02:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Or when Pierre and Charles tend to make up around pianos.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles Leclerc &amp; Carlos Sainz Jr, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Serenade but make it inappropriate</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Naked Serenade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Charles is such a tease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After spending so much time by his side, as his boyfriend, because they actually are dating, Pierre knows this a little too well. He likes to make sure their relationship is going well but, damn it, he's starting to get fed up. It's hard not to get tired of it and at the same time he knows that it's part of his Monegasque. He can’t stop him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seduce others, be seduced, play this constant game of being the most perfect person possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And after assuring him with an innocent smile that it was nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's less serious than it seems, because Charles would never go so far as to cheat on him. It's part of their principles and he knows his partner is a good person. He trusts him, he believes in him and in his actions. He just knows it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn't matter how much it annoys him from time to time. Because the Ferrari driver is his boyfriend, and not someone else's. He sometimes feels like he has to fight for his attention, to spend moments by his side, which is frankly not appropriate. He shouldn't have to, he shouldn't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in a way, Charles is the best boyfriend he could have asked for. Always there when he needs him; they knew how to be there whenever their better half needed it. During good times and bad. He is not stingy, he knows very well that Charles is free and that no one can own anyone, that's how he loves him, moreover, his Monegasque. Free and carefree, ready to take on the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They remain a couple. They are still dating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he is not wrong, he is rarely wrong. Charles is definitely flirting with Carlos. Constantly. He doesn't know about the love life of the Spaniard, to be honest, he doesn't even care. What annoys him, however, is the way they build their relationship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Monegasque brushes aside his concerns with the back of his hand, as always, laughing, but he is not amused. He rarely is. He doesn't want to bring his uncertainties into the balance, but damn it, it's not nice to see his boyfriend always with other people. His fears, his problems.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What if he gets bored in the end ?  What if, at some point, Charles no longer wants him, because he has found someone else ?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jealousy and anger torment him at the very moment when the dialogue is broken. He decides that his best solution and probably decision is to walk away a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ignoring Charles's messages is easier than he thought. His calls too. And if the friend of a friend of a friend ends up also sending him a message to tell him about the situation of the Monegasque, he cares even less. He needs time for himself, he needs something other than a little too heavy relational baggage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He warned Charles that he was taking a break from their relationship and his boyfriend didn't believe him. Too bad for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few days pass then it's a week and at this point he breathes better even if he doesn’t forget. He ends up wondering how his companion handles his absence and if he even cares. Whether he cares or not at all. If he also wonders if time could make them separate for good, one day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The answer comes with a message more important than the others. His eyes fall on it on a gray morning, when he doesn't have much to do, and immediately intrigues him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My apartment at 5 p.m., please, I beg you, come, my love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He weighs the pros and cons. He has nothing to lose by going. The tone seems rather important, imperative. He is afraid of urgency. He hesitates for hours before resolving himself and taking his coat and going there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is barely past five o'clock when he arrives at the door of the Monegasque's apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pierre opens the door and, out of habit, takes off his shoes before entering the hallway leading to the living room, oblivious to the situation. He hears piano notes from where he is. A word posted in the hallway, a sheet of paper scribbled with a marker. He recognizes Charles's handwriting. A word of apology. A slight smile takes place on his features, for the youngest to recognize his faults is in itself a big step.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks over to the next room and, in truth, freezes on the threshold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The vision that awaits him is so disconcerting that he wonders for a moment if he is not dreaming. A gentle heat has ignited in his stomach, with good reason to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From here, he can see the delicate curve of Charles' back and the moles that strew his pale skin. The slightly clearer distinction still at the level of his behind, that the red cushion on which it is posed only seems to illuminate only more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can see this galaxy that he usually draws with his fingers. Virgin from any other marks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without any shame, with a pride and a confidence that are his own, Charles continues to play a song on the piano. His nimble fingers move over the keys. He can't see his face, but he's sure he's in that in between trance, when he's really absorbed, focused on doing something. Talented. Magnificent. Such a masterpiece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pierre walks into the room now. His eyes riveted on his boyfriend, he can't take his eyes off. There is something intoxicating about the vision, which is quite unique. He feels the scent of his Monegasque come to his nostrils a few steps away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From behind, still, he places a finger at the base of Charles' spine and goes up slowly, until reaching his neck. He can see his body cover with chills, the song continues though. It never stops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wraps his arms around the younger's neck, placing his face at the base of his neck, beginning to place light kisses there, nibbling at the sensitive, sensitive skin. And he hears Charles exhale loudly, his fingers freezing for a moment on the keys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep playing.” He almost growls, a direct command, and his partner directly executes his demand although a thrill runs through his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And from here he finally has a clear vision on the front of his lover. In particular the pretty erection that he has on the front. What started it, he wonders. Some ideas come to his mind immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is it the thought in itself that Pierre was going to come here and find him against his favorite instrument, a perfect boy, naked, just for him ? Or when he heard the door open, when he heard him come in here ? Or the first contact, his hand behind his back ?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or the fact of being watched ? He knows that Charles loves to be watched, he almost feeds on the gaze of others on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of his in particular.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You like to see me there, huh ? Do you like to feel me against your back ? Do you like the thought that I could fuck you there now against that piano ? Did you miss me ?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He speaks and lets his hands start to drift on the Monegasque's chest without giving more importance to the problem exposed further south for the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-Yes … Yes, oh. Pierre I missed you I … I'm sorry, ah …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pierre can feel his own body quiver with impatience. He bites and sucks the white skin, so white, several marks at the level of the shoulder, at the base of the neck. Marks that he knows his partner will have a hard time hiding, that satisfies him a bit too much, and he always wants more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking around, he finds an open jar of lube, deposited right next to the piano, and a nasty smile comes to his lips. How considerate Charles is, yes. He slaps his butt with a gesture just before grabbing the object and coating his fingers generously. The Monegasque lets out a little cry at the gesture and it’s the wrong key on the keyboard that is pressed, showing how distracted he suddenly is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles corrects himself quickly, shoulders lowered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to be a good boy to me for once, eh ?” he whispers, his mouth back against his boyfriend's neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Everything for you, Pierre. Everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moves his fingers down, the youngest's butt sticking out just enough of the cushion, and thrusts a finger into the ring of flesh. He feels his Monegasque tense against him and he finds it difficult to contain his own passion. His erection pressed into his jeans is almost painful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“More, more, Pierre, don't spare me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two fingers then three and he finally begins to pay attention to Charles's cock to relax him a bit more. It’s a slow torture. Against him, his boyfriend seems too sensitive, reacting to his every move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get up, Charles. And don't look back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The younger moans when he pulls back, breaking contact between them, but does as asked. Pierre takes the opportunity to remove his clothes, trying to do it as quickly as possible, before coating his penis with lubricant and leaning Charles forward. The feeling is still incredible. Little time and he is entirely in his boyfriend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pierre, Pierre, please …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sets a slow pace at first, the sound of their skins against each other obscene. So obscene. It’s now the only noise in the apartment other than their two breaths and the moans they let out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're a fucking tease aren’t you ?”  Pierre whispers in Charles' ear as he tucks his hair, making him lift his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles doesn’t answer but then he slams him hard against the piano, this beautiful and amazing piano he received as a gift. And Pierre smiles when his other half lets out a moan a little louder than the others. He knows him a little too well, in every detail, and has reached his prostate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hammers the same place until he brings his boyfriend to the edge of the precipice. He himself isn't very far away. they are never far from each other. His vision blurs for a moment, he feels Charles unravel under him, how his flesh tightens and then he has his moment. Absence, brutal vision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is out of breath, as if he had drowned during their moment together. He pulls back, undoing the carnal embrace they were caught in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles has slightly teary eyes and flushed cheeks, looking bewildered, elsewhere when he turns around. Pierre brings the younger one to him and kisses his lips forcefully. Their first kiss in at least a week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just to be clear, I still haven't forgiven you, Charlie. It's all gonna depend on you now. Don't move, I'm coming back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He goes to the bathroom and collects a wet cloth. He then wipes his boyfriend's legs off before taking care of the piano, wincing slightly at the damage. He hopes it won't leave any marks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can ... can you stay ?” Charles asks him, his head bowed, almost shy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pierre really can't say no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Of course …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabs his boyfriend's wrist and leads them to the bedroom. He then pulls Charles into his arms. They can think about everything else tomorrow.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it seems like i've decided to write this ... uh.<br/>It was an interesting idea and concept ... and who am I kidding, it's just diverting to imagine Charles' playing a serenade naked for Pierre.</p><p>It has two other parts because I'm not done yet with things around piano. Yep.<br/>Thanks again my gc and especially Laura and Jade I guess x)</p><p>tumblr : laeana</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Concert Piano</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing is, Pierre still hasn't forgiven him and it's true. Charles discovers daily life with a sulky boyfriend and, above all, especially who has not touched him since the … the piano session. The memory almost makes him blush. To try beyond anything he had ever tried. He did him a serenade … while being entirely naked.</p><p> </p><p>And it worked on the moment.</p><p> </p><p>It worked and he doesn't know what to do now. He’s lost. He is focused on the task, on how to get his partner to forgive him, how to find what they have before. He feels like he did something wrong and he knows he should be willing to just give his French a little more space.</p><p> </p><p>The best way is to put himself in Pierre’s shoes, that's what Daniel said to him when he told him about it. Would he like to see Pierre constantly flirting with others ? Would he like to see him smile and laugh and touch other people so familiarly ?</p><p> </p><p>The answer is of course no. The thought makes him feel all weird inside. Jealous. Terribly jealous. He knows he makes a really bad jealous. Terrible character.</p><p> </p><p>He breathes.</p><p> </p><p>His ideas are not good enough to conclude or too mundane. They don't suit him, they don't measure up. He needs something more, something special and unique. He needs something worth showing Pierre, something worth a sincere apology.</p><p> </p><p>Something worthy of their love.</p><p> </p><p>He would almost blame himself for being cutesy but it is never enough otherwise. Nothing is enough because he needs more. He needs the solution, not a solution. He needs to find what would make the difference. He needs it.</p><p> </p><p>In the midst of all his thoughts, Giorgio Armani calls him to invite him to a gala and ask him if he can play the piano. It would be to close the ceremony, he would be on stage and the prospect made him as nervous as he is impatient. He finally agrees before thinking too much about it. He always thinks too much.</p><p> </p><p>Then in the middle of it all, an idea sprouts in his mind. That of creating a melody. A melody that would be for Pierre. A melody that would represent them or something similar.</p><p> </p><p>His fingers are busy on the keys, he has too many ideas but more than anything he has an idea of the feelings he wants to communicate. Of all these sensations that run through him. And it's far from perfect, never has been, no matter how well he practices. His goal is not perfection but something else. </p><p> </p><p>Passion first. Passion, a blazing fire, shared moments. Then the tenderness of the first times, of hugs, of reunion, of coming home and finding someone there waiting for him. But also thunderstorms, the negative side, black, which often wants to be put aside but which still exists. Less love, less happiness, but life lessons that forge the foundations of a real relationship. </p><p> </p><p>Seeming to come straight out of his heart. His heart in each of the notes. In all that he cannot express, that he may never be able to express, the unspeakable, the too beautiful, the overflow. </p><p> </p><p>In the middle of the night, his feelings are born in the eyes of all.</p><p> </p><p>Charles is doing his best to get Pierre's promise to come to this gala. He manages to get an invitation for him a little too easily. His boyfriend doesn't suspect a thing. Or at least that's the impression he has and that suits him pretty well. He prefers to surprise him.</p><p> </p><p>The evening comes a little too quickly and without knowing it he finds himself backstage, far too nervous. He has never done that and he cannot dismiss the worries he has. Never totally. His name is announced, as brand ambassador, as well as the title of the song he will play. A smile rises on his lips when he hears it again. What a choice.</p><p> </p><p>He enters the scene without great pretensions. He sits down at the piano. A large and elegant black grand piano. The sound is sublime. It's the only audible thing in the room and he pours his liquid emotions into his art. He almost seems to be holding his breath, it's so intense. The keys scroll across his fingers and why does it sound so different from anything he has repeated before ?</p><p> </p><p>It's as if everything is amplified by the simple act of standing here on a stage giving an ode to the person who shares his life, without anyone but the two of them knowing. Incredibly intimate, the caress of an instant, the promise of words that cannot be said.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Mon Amour</b>
</p><p> </p><p>My Love. The title he chose for this composition. He looks up, barely a moment, to discover Pierre's face, which he had already spotted in the crowd before, he had him get a seat in the front rows, and his eyes are colored with different emotions. Surprise. It's violent, it's beautiful, it's so beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>He feels like he's getting to the end of his song too quickly for it to be real. And yet, there he is, pressing the keys one last time. Then his hands drop, now devoid of purpose. His breathing resumes just as harshly, as this moment of magic shatters.</p><p> </p><p>The applause rings out and he has to remember to stand up to greet the crowd. His legs are shaking and struggling to support his weight. He feels weird but he feels proud. He blinks, suddenly dazzled by the spotlights that seem too bright to him. Too much light, yes. </p><p> </p><p>He's having trouble breathing.</p><p> </p><p>He discovers fame in a different way and it's as rewarding as winning a Grand Prix in a way. It is to exhibit his works to the public, to the world, and to expect a judgment from it. It is a terrible thing to do, but he is satisfied.</p><p> </p><p>Then people walk towards the exit. He is left alone, on the stage, and sinks back into his seat. Everyone is heading to the buffet room and he needs to stay here a little longer. He needs to watch the dream evaporate, slowly but surely, until there is no trace of it left in his veins.</p><p> </p><p>The creaking of the stage floor makes his head turn.</p><p> </p><p>Pierre stands a few meters from him, a neutral look on his face this time, but gazing at him without blushing, without ever looking away. </p><p> </p><p>“What did you think of that ?” he whispers, it's enough to be audible, in such a large room.</p><p> </p><p>The Frenchman simply shakes his head before approaching him, step by step, his gait is fluid, rhythmic, and suddenly, it’s happening, he is in front of him, dominating him by his standing posture. </p><p> </p><p>Then, one hand, two hands on his cheeks, to tilt his face upward and a pair of lips lands on his. It's sweet, it's awfully sweet, but there is the sensation of a dying passion that comes to rest on his mouth. Almost suffocating.</p><p> </p><p>“You wrote me a melody. You played me a song, in front of all these people, like it was just us. As if I was the only one that mattered to you, that existed to you …”</p><p> </p><p>Charles lets his hands rest on the fabric of his boyfriend's shirt, level with his abdomen, slightly crumpling the fold. He seeks the courage to say the right words, the words he needs, before looking up.</p><p> </p><p>“You are the only one who matters to me, who exists in my eyes. It doesn't matter …” he's underwater, again, for different reasons “No matter what I do or say, there will never be someone more important to me than you. I thought it was clear, I thought I had established it before. I love you, Pierre, and it drives me crazy … to not be able to touch you, feel you, show it to you properly.”</p><p> </p><p>Pierre kisses him again. Until their lips come out more swollen. He moans against his mouth, happy and showered with so much attention, today. All he wanted. Then the Frenchman drops to his knees, between his spread legs.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait-… Pierre ? What are you doing ?”</p><p> </p><p>His nimble fingers activate the buckle of his belt and open his pants in the same way. Then caress his cock through the fabric. He can't believe it, because they're in the middle of so many … no, there's no one left, but the risk is not minimal. The prospect should alarm him, but not really. His thoughts evaporate as quickly as they appeared.</p><p> </p><p>Pierre crosses the barrier of his boxers and places a few light kisses on his dick. He also masturbates him slightly to make his erection bigger. Then, without any hesitation, his boyfriend deposits his lips at the tip before taking it in his mouth entirely.</p><p> </p><p>He moans a little louder and has to bite his lip to keep it from being too audible. This stage, raised, far from the seats, seems almost too exposed. The idea is …</p><p> </p><p>They are exposed, on this stage. They could be in plain sight, highlighted, as Pierre offers him such a favor. To congratulate him, to reward him, like the good boy he is. He likes it a little too much.</p><p> </p><p>His companion is a real expert, whether it is with his tongue or his throat. Their first times had something definitely more embarrassing but here they are, his Frenchman has always wanted to please him, to give him pleasure in the best possible way. Charles doesn't even feel able to last long.</p><p> </p><p>It's too much.</p><p> </p><p>Pierre's lips wrapped around his penis, he looks at him through his beating eyelashes and wet with light tears, has eyes only for him. His pretty blue eyes … he likes to be looked at but he likes to be looked at by Pierre. He wants to matter for him, he wants to be the only one for him.</p><p> </p><p>He has a hand slipped through his hair, into his blond locks, which he dyed again, and he's a tease ? His partner knows very well what effect these locks have on him, he is sure.</p><p> </p><p>“P-Pierre, I will …”</p><p> </p><p>Brought to the end of his limits, he doesn’t hold back much longer. And the older one stays in the same position, always sucking him off with the same intensity. He watches him swallow, his eyes hazy. He can't believe it.</p><p> </p><p>“You …” he shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts together “What was that for ?”</p><p> </p><p>Pierre simply drops to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head against his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s forgiven. And that was to congratulate you, it was a beautiful song. I can't believe you wrote me something. I love you, Charles. I love you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>A smile lands on his lips and suddenly he feels more at home than he has been in the past few weeks.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I love you too, Pierre.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yep that's it uh. It's Pierre's birthday so I offer him reconciliation with Charles :)<br/>and smut.<br/>yeah.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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